


sleepless

by hogwarts



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, frank zhang is my favorite always and i will insert him into every story i possibly can, mentally weak!annabeth, post-nightmare snuggling, post-tartarus nightmares, sort of angsty but mostly fluff, takes place during blood of olympus idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwarts/pseuds/hogwarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one can make Annabeth forget her nightmares like Percy Jackson can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> *cartwheels in stage left* ................hey

If there was such thing as a nightmare-intensifying machine, Tartarus would be it.

Annabeth was wide awake. She felt cold and clammy with sweat and there were fat tears rolling down her cheeks, slipping up the curve of her chin or vanishing into her hair. She rolled over and checked the time on her watch. It was barely midnight. How was she supposed to be any good in battle if she couldn't get to sleep at night?

Disgruntled, she swiped at the tear tracks staining her face. She'd been dreaming, she knew that much, and it was just another stupid Tartarus dream like she'd had a million times. The Tartarus dreams were both the worst and the most frequent, and she hated them with a passion; they were vivid and wild and they pounded in her ears, and she would scream her throat raw with silent screams and thrash around in her bed until her blankets were a tangled mess as she watched Percy die. Again and again and again.

It was hell, and Annabeth knew exactly what hell was like.

She swallowed hard and concentrated on not crying, trying to regulate her breathing and relax her jaw the way her dad had taught her to do when she was little. The shadows cast by her night light danced across the room, illuminating patches of wall in a childlike star pattern. She had always slept well in her cabin on the  _Argo II_ , always felt safe because she knew her friends were never more than a few paces away; but all that had changed since she'd returned from Tartarus. Now she found herself wide awake at night, too nervous to stick a foot out from under the covers if she was hot, too scared to close her eyes, constantly wondering what could be lurking in the dark corners of her room. She'd always slept with a night light on the ship — Leo had equipped every cabin with one, because you never knew who was secretly afraid of the dark — but recently the stars on her walls had become more haunting than comforting, an eerie reminder of the promises she'd made and the horrors she'd endured to keep them.

It occurred to her that she had no idea if Bob was even okay. The thought made her eyes start to burn all over again.

It was like she was living in a mental pit of fear and sadness — the walls steep and rocky, soaring out of eyesight and blending into the inky blackness above, a climb higher and more treacherous than she had ever attempted. There was no way she could ever manage that escape. She was trapped and hopelessly lost in her own brain, in her own memories. Of all the horrifying, dangerous, life-threatening experiences she'd endured in her lifetime, this was the most terrifying.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten, but images from her dreams flashed behind her eyelids like a slideshow of stills from a horror film: the glint of the  _arai's_  claws, the stains of blood blooming on Percy's shirt, the bronze flash of his sword as he sliced down one monster after another, his movements growing slower and slower, too slow. She could still feel the panic pulsing through her veins as she stumbled, blind and weaponless. She could still hear Percy's cry of pain reverberating in her ears.

She was genuinely doing her best to calm down, but as she listened to the wild thumping of her heart in her eardrums, she knew it was no use. She anxiously swung her legs over the side of her bed, noticing suddenly how incredibly tired she was of being frightened. Was one good night's sleep really  _too_  much to ask?

It barely took her ten seconds to tiptoe across the hall to Percy's cabin and slip inside unnoticed. The floorboards didn't offer a single creak. The hinges on the door kept blissfully silent. She gave the  _Argo II_  an affectionate mental pat for helping her out.

She crept inside Percy's cabin, and in the dim light of his nightlight, she could see that he wasn't asleep either.

The first thing she noticed was the light itself: she knew for a fact that Percy liked to sleep in the dark, because he always claimed that it was impossible for him to keep his eyes shut with the lights on. But tonight his walls were lit up with the same eerie stars and constellations that snaked across hers — in fact, paired with the thick white bars of moonlight that shot in through the porthole windows, his room was even brighter than her own. Annabeth's urge to cry increased tenfold at the realization that Tartarus had invoked the same fear of the dark in him that it had in her. Immediately she scolded herself: she was not going to burst into a wild blubbering mess again any time soon. She'd done enough of that on her own.

Her attention drifted from the nightlight to the bed in the corner, where Percy Jackson's tousled dark head of hair stood out stark against the crisp white of his pillow, his sheets a twisted mess around his body; squinting, Annabeth made out the silhouette of an arm as it snaked out from beneath the covers and fumbled with the switch on the lamp beside the bed. She blinked in the sudden brightness as he snapped it on; Percy was peering up at her, a blanket pulled up to his nose.

"Hey," he said, his voice muffled by the material of his bedding.

"Hi." The word came out hoarse and tearful, and Annabeth did her best not to be ashamed of it.

He rubbed his eyes and squinted at her. "Bad dreams?"

"Yeah."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment. Then he let out a soft exhale, and lifted the corner of the covers with a tentative hand. "D'you want to…?"

Relief and gratitude fluttered in Annabeth's stomach. She padded across the short expanse of his room, taking care to flick off the offending bedside lamp, and curled up beside him. Their noses were inches apart as she studied his face: his sea-green eyes alert and luminous in the dim light, the frame of his hair casting spidering shadows across his cheek and collarbones. His lips looked chapped and horridly pale. His dark eyebrows were furrowed, the way they always were when he was worried. There were faint purple circles under his eyes. Frankly he looked like he hadn't slept in the past week, but she didn't mention that; instead she drank in the way he was looking at her, his eyes pooling with worry and an unfamiliar tenderness. It was melancholy, bittersweet even, and seemed to come from a different place than his usual affectionate gazes did; somewhere darker and more passionate. She discerned something like relief in his expression as well — not that she would've expected anything else. After everything the two of them had been through, after all the times they'd gotten lucky and barely scraped by with their lives, she was beyond relieved, too.

She saw his throat bob as he swallowed. "Was it Tartarus?"

"Yeah," she replied cautiously.

"Do you…" He swiped his thumb under her eyes, catching the tears that still glittered there. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"That's okay." He pulled her close, lightly stroking her hair as she snuggled into his chest. The rest of the  _Argo II_  crew would probably freak in the morning when they found Annabeth's bed cold and empty, but she couldn't really find it in herself to care; the two of them had been through enough together to deserve at least this. And each other.

Besides, she liked the way he smelled — like ocean — too much to leave now. If she closed her eyes she could pretend they were on the beach at Camp Half-Blood, watching the sun sink behind the horizon, on some type of romantic date Percy had probably half-planned. Maybe they could do something like that when the war was settled; a nice walk along the sand, warm and golden beneath their feet. An involuntary wistful sigh passed through her lips. That would be nice.

But the war wasn't over, and they weren't at Camp Half-Blood. They were in a flying boat above the Mediterranean, thousands of miles from home.

The thought saddened her. Her tears had snuck up on her this time, and she found herself desperately trying to choke them back. A strangled sob managed to escape her throat despite her efforts, and Percy tensed against her.

"Sorry," she muttered quickly. "Sorry I'm…like this tonight."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about that." He wasn't looking at her; she could see his profile silhouetted in the faint glow of the nightlight at the foot of the bed. "I have them all the time. The nightmares."

His voice cracked on his last word. When he spoke again, it was hoarse. "I mean, I know dangerous stuff happens to us all the time. But, Annabeth, I just keep worrying that…like, what if something happens again, and I'm not around to catch you?"

He broke off with a shaky breath, and his tone reminded her painstakingly of the confused, flustered kid she'd met five years ago: that boy who had just lost his mom, who was putting on a brave face even though Annabeth knew he was scared out of wits. It was branded into her brain — the frustrated, desperate expression on his face, the way his voice had broken when he'd told her he wanted to go home. He sounded like that now, small and vulnerable — Percy Jackson, who tried so hard to be strong all the time even though he didn't need to be. Annabeth wished she could make that clear somehow.

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes again, and she tried to blink them away before Percy saw. When she trusted herself to speak again she said, "You get some rest. Really, it's okay. I'm fine."

That was a lie. Even to her it sounded like a lie — her voice was heavy and wet, thick with excess tears she was determined not shed. Still, she figured there was no point in  _both_  of them losing sleep over her. In a smaller voice, she added, "You don't have to worry about me."

He scoffed and rolled onto his side, resting his head in his hand. "You kidding? I am not sleeping while you're upset."

"But I'm fine, honest—"

"You're  _crying_."

She bit her lip.

"Don't bite your lips." Annabeth felt his fingers at her mouth, easing her lower lip out from between her teeth. He met her eyes. "They're my favorite things to kiss."

To her own dismay and probably also to Percy's, Annabeth was surprised to find that she had to bite down on her lips —  _hard_  — in order to stifle the sudden laugh surging up her throat. Her teeth sunk into her flesh with enough ferocity to tear the delicate skin, which stung, but she was distracted from the pain; Percy, spouting cheesy pickup lines? Percy, exercising his laughably pathetic flirting skills on her when she was in a state like this? Percy, trying to make her giggle by voluntarily offering more proof of his lack of sexual intellect?

Percy, always doing what was best for her without a moment's hesitation because he was ridiculously selfless and an idiot?

_What else is new?_  
  
It wasn't the first time this observation had crossed Annabeth's mind. It was, however, the first time that she chose not to linger on it, for fear of bursting into tears again. So instead of laughing at him and his atrocious pickup lines, Annabeth quirked an eyebrow. "That was pretty bad."

"Really? I thought it was one of the better ones."

"Then clearly you're too tired to think straight."

"Well, maybe you're just too stubborn to admit that I'm funny."

"Maybe your ego is just a couple sizes too big for you to admit that you aren't."

"Maybe you're just too…" He yawned, but his childish retort hung between them unfinished. He offered her a sheepish sideways grin instead. "Maybe you're right and we should go to sleep."

"Mm." Annabeth dropped her head into the pillow and regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes. "You're more stubborn than that, Percy Jackson."

"I don't feel like it."

"Giving up that easily? That's not you."

He frowned. His nose wrinkled in all the cute places. "No. I'm not stubborn."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"I'm  _not!_ "

"See, there you go."

" _Stop_." Percy's face scrunched into a sweet little pout, and Annabeth fought back a laugh. "Stop with the outsmarting-everybody thing. You're making me look bad."

"There are worse curses to have."

A smile nudged at the corner of his mouth. "Shut up, Wise Girl."

She finally let out a watery laugh, and it occurred to her why they were having this ridiculous conversation: he was lightening her mood, dragging her focus away from the horrific scenarios her brain had conjured up, sacrificing his own precious hours of sleep to ensure that she would be okay. She loved him for doing that for her.

She brought one hand up to his neck, the tendons there rippling under her fingers as he breathed, and shifted her head up to kiss him; but she paused midway, her lips already parted, as she suddenly noticed his eyes. Since Tartarus they had been hollow husks of dulled sea green; but now, here in the middle of the night, only half-awake and his face wet with her tears, there was something like happiness in them, his smile somehow more precious and beautiful and endearing than she'd ever remembered it to be. And in that moment, as she began the steep climb out of her mental pit of fear and sadness, as she started to re-define the lines between  _still alive_  and  _feeling_   _alive_ , Annabeth decided that she was just a little more whole again.

They would get through this. They would. The two of them, they were indestructible.

She was lost in thought until Percy started doing the baby seal thing with his eyes at her, the ones he reserved just for moments like these, and they were so big and so green that she almost —  _almost_  — felt bad for him.

As far as tearful, snotty, sleep-deprived kisses go, they had one of the better ones.

* * *

It was morning. Thick shafts of bright light filtered through the porthole windows that dotted the walls below deck, bathing the hallway in a soft golden glow. Frank Zhang stood at the door. He gave the wood a tentative rap with his knuckles.

"Percy?" he called. "It's time for breakfast. You should probably come on up."

No reply.

Frank frowned. Then he knocked again.

"Percy.  _Hey_. Are you awake?"

Silence.

A sharp panic started to well up inside him as he stared unblinkingly at the slab of wood that was Percy's door. Suddenly, in the silence, two frighteningly plausible scenarios rose into his mind. What if Percy had been kidnapped? Or worse, what if he was  _dead_?

Frank's stomach dropped like a stone, and he shook his head like he could shake the thoughts out of his mind. His grandmother's voice, tiny in the back of his brain, began to scold him:  _Fai Zhang, collect yourself!  
_  
Frank stood there in the silence, quiet as a mouse, biting back the nervous worry pooling in his stomach. He waited politely. He counted to thirty in his head the way his mother had always taught him to do. But right as the flutter of panic consumed him and his hand began frantically descending on the doorknob, he heard a rustle of blankets from inside — like someone beginning to stir. He flung open the door.

Percy wasn't, to Frank's relief, dead or kidnapped. But the sight he came upon filled him with equally as much dread.

Percy and Annabeth were a tangled mess of limbs and sheets. Her head was on his chest, hair splayed out around her face in a distinctly princess-y way Frank figured she would not appreciate. One of Percy's hands lay on top of the covers, loosely palming her waist through the material like he had been afraid she would run away while he slept. Their breathing was deep and even, and they looked fantastically at peace.

Frank was equal parts mortified and paralyzed, rooted to the spot, eyes hopelessly glued to his two friends as he tried desperately to force his feet backwards. He had finally managed to take a successful step when one of his old trainers chose precisely that moment to let out a loud, obscene squeak, and he froze in his tracks.

Percy lazily cracked open an eye. He looked calm and completely at ease as he flashed Frank a crooked smile. "Hey, Frank," he murmured. "What's up?"

"Um. Hi," Frank stuttered. He awkwardly shifted from foot to foot, praying that his face wasn't giving away how vastly uncomfortable he was — like he hadn't just walked in on Percy and his girlfriend in bed together. "We're, uh, about to start breakfast, so you two should probably come up soon…"

"Sure. We'll—" Percy interrupted himself with a gargantuan yawn. "We'll be up in a second."

"Okay. Yeah."

Annabeth started to stir, and Frank took this as his cue to leave. As quickly as he could, he backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a significantly more forceful slam than he'd intended. He winced. Annabeth was definitely awake now.

Frustrated with himself, he turned and leaned against the wall, heaving a sigh. "Why's it always  _me?_ "

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [theodsias](http://theodsias.tumblr.com) on tumblr if u want to come cry with me


End file.
